Perchance to Dream
by MBradford
Summary: Post Quest. On the way back to the Shire, the hobbits stop in Bree for the night. Frodo has an odd dream. Part of the Bramblethorn series.


Title - Perchance to Dream  
  
Author - Mbradford  
  
Rating - PG  
  
Disclaimer - The places, concepts and characters herein are not mine, with the exception of Rushford Bramblethorn, and being a hobbit, he is only partially my creation. Hobbits, Middle Earth, etc, belong to the Tolkien Estate.  
  
Summary - The veil between this world and the next draws thin at times, for instance, when we dream. On the way home from the quest, the four hobbits pause in Bree for a night's rest, and Frodo encounters an old acquaintance...sort of...   
  
Part of the Bramblethorn series.  
  
Perchance To Dream  
  
The afternoon sun slanted through the trees along the road and fell cheerfully upon the face of Meriadoc Brandybuck as he rode at the head of the party. His pony trotted at a steady pace and he patted its neck in approval. A shadow fell over him briefly as another pony drew directly alongside.  
  
Merry grinned as he turned to Frodo. "Almost home, cousin."  
  
"It's not far now," Frodo agreed as he considered the great distance they had traveled. Ahead lay the village of Bree, and some four days' travel after would come the familiar borders of Buckland.   
  
"It's late in the day, you know," Merry remarked as he noted the position of the sun in the sky above. "We'll have to stop for a rest soon, and Bree would be convenient."  
  
Frodo considered. "A warm bed at an inn would be preferable to the outdoors," he admitted. Another thought came to him and he smiled at a sudden fond memory. "Perhaps there's room for us at the Prancing Pony this evening."  
  
Merry laughed. "Do you suppose the innkeeper will remember us? What was his name? Butter - something... Butterberry? Butterbean?"   
  
Frodo laughed outright at Merry's attempts to conjure the innkeeper's name. "Butterburr, Merry. And I should be surprised if he doesn't remember, what with all the commotion we caused."  
  
Merry smirked. "I'll wager you a pint he doesn't. That memory of his seemed rather unreliable upon our first meeting."  
  
Frodo smiled back. "I accept your wager, Merry. A pint then, regarding the innkeeper's memory."  
  
"What are you two going on about?" Pippin's voice rose behind them.  
  
"Nothing important, Pip," Merry called over his shoulder. "Just planning for our accommodations tonight, that's all."  
  
"We were thinking of stopping in Bree for the night, at the Prancing Pony," Frodo explained as Sam and Pippin caught up with him and Merry.  
  
"Ain't there anywheres else, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked with a pained expression. "Bree ain't my favorite place, if you take my meaning."  
  
"Nor is it mine," Frodo said, his expression becoming serious. "But Butterburr is a fine host, and his rooms are comfortable for the price."  
  
"And Frodo hasn't the Ring or any enemies there to trouble him now," Pippin reminded Sam.   
  
At the mention of the Ring, Frodo's expression seemed to darken slightly and a small shudder passed through his frame. Sam gave Pippin a sharp look, but said no more.  
  
Recovering his composure, Frodo reassured the gardener. "Pippin is right, Sam. We carry nothing that endangers us, and - " Frodo broke off for a moment before continuing, "and Bramblethorn is long gone."  
  
"Hear, hear!" Merry exclaimed. "And Frodo shall stand me a pint in payment of our wager when the innkeeper fails to recall us."  
  
"You're entirely too sure of yourself, Meriadoc," Frodo said archly, regarding Merry with mock scorn.  
  
Merry laughed at Frodo's expression and tone. "It's settled, then. We shall rest in Bree, then make a start for the Shire come morning."  
  
"It will be good to see the Shire again," Pippin remarked, grinning fondly. "Do you think they've missed us?"  
  
"I don't know, Pip," Merry answered quietly. "Our families will have, I'm certain." While he was eager to see his parents and relatives at Brandy Hall, Merry was apprehensive as well. After the relief and tear - sodden hugs and kisses would surely come dire reprimand for the grief caused by his disappearance and failure to return for an entire year.  
  
The party traveled on in silence for a while after that, each hobbit intent upon his own thoughts as they neared the large wooden gate of the town of Bree.  
  
~*~  
  
The inn stood before them as they dismounted. The sign bearing the image of a spirited pony rearing back on its hind legs swung in the light evening breeze as a hobbit emerged from around the corner of the building.   
  
"Good day to you," Frodo called to the newcomer. "Have you any rooms available for the night?"  
  
"Aye, we do sir," the hobbit answered. "Just step inside and I'll see your beasts settled in the stables."  
  
Merry poked Frodo lightly in the ribs. "The moment of truth, cousin. My pint awaits."  
  
"You're not drinking it yet, Merry," Frodo replied as Sam held the door open for the group to enter.   
  
The interior was dark compared to the outside, for the sun was too low in the sky now to reach through the windows and into the common room. They strode to the desk at the front of the room and looked up.   
  
"Your pardon, sir," Frodo said by way of introduction. "We come seeking lodging for the night."  
  
A familiar face appeared above them and peered down at them over the edge of the desk. "Well good evening, little masters," he said in a friendly tone. "I've some fine rooms available, indeed." A slight frown flickered across the man's face for a moment as he spoke. Hobbits... he knew all the hobbit folk of Bree, but these folk were not members of his usual clientele. And their mode of dress was quite extraordinary. Two of them were unusually tall for their race, and wore rather impressive armored coats. Small but obviously well - made swords hung at their sides and their cloaks were fine velvet trimmed in shiny gold threads. The other two were no less well - appointed, although they wore no armor of any sort. Strangers, they seemed, but there was something familiar about them, something not quite willing to make itself known to the innkeeper.  
  
Unable to resist, Frodo gave Merry a pointed glance and said, "We are friends of Gandalf the Grey. Have you seen him?"  
  
"That's not fair," Merry whispered in Frodo's ear.  
  
"Gandalf? Oh yes, the tall chap with the long beard and the pointy hat," Butterburr recalled. "No, I've not seen him in a long while. Most odd, that is. Most odd indeed." Butterburr's gaze traveled from one hobbit to the next and came to rest once again on Frodo, whose mischievous smile suddenly sparked a memory.  
  
"Well I'll be," the innkeeper stammered. "Why you're the same four who came to my inn a while back, askin' for the wizard. It's good to see you well and whole, as I remember you were in some trouble then."   
  
Frodo winked at Merry. His expression clearly said, "I'll have my pint now, if you please." To Butterburr he said, "There's no trouble at our heels now, I assure you. We are bound for home and have traveled very far."  
  
"I'm sure that you have," Butterburr replied, gazing again at the strange attire of his guests. When no further explanations were offered, he shrugged and went about the procurement of rooms for the hobbits. "Two rooms, side by side on the lower floor, down that hallway to the very end," he said pointing. "If it's supper or refreshment you need, we're pleased to be of service."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Merry said, giving Frodo a sour look. "We shall indeed be in want of a brew and a meal in a short while."  
  
The hobbits took their leave of the common room and went to settle into their accommodations.  
  
~*~  
  
"Frodo, you cheated," Merry berated his cousin as he opened the door of the room he was to share with Pippin. "You helped him to remember us by mentioning Gandalf."  
  
"Perhaps, but it was Gandalf I spoke of, not of we ourselves," Frodo reminded him. "The wager was not regarding his memory of Gandalf."  
  
"I still say you cheated," Merry insisted. "Even so, I shall bear my end of the bargain and you shall have your pint."   
  
In short order the four hobbits had settled their belongings into their rooms and entered the common room. It seemed virtually unchanged since they had last seen it. A large black cat lounged on a table in the rear, showing a pointed disinterest in the goings on around him. Several men sat laughing in one corner, and across the room another group sat good naturedly swapping jokes, tales and a song or two. The mood in the room seemed to be one of casual enjoyment.  
  
When Butterburr appeared with four pints of ale, Merry grudgingly passed one to Frodo. "You won by sheer trickery, but you won nonetheless," he admitted. Frodo merely smiled and raised his mug in salute.   
  
Sam looked nervously around the room, alert for any sign of trouble, and Frodo touched his arm gently. "Sam, its all right," he said quietly. "It's different now."  
  
Sam looked down at the mug in his hands and sighed. "I know you're right, Mr. Frodo, but I can't help worryin' a bit. The sooner we're back home, the better I'll feel."  
  
Merry and Pippin clearly felt no apprehension, and were at the moment racing each other to the bottoms of their pints. Pippin brought his mug to rest on the tabletop first, and with a grin of triumph and a slight hiccup, he gestured for another round.   
  
"No more for me, at the moment, please," Frodo said, eyeing his cousins with a wry expression. "I'm not so eager as the two of you to be reeling about the room. I shall enjoy my ale at a more sensible pace."  
  
"Aye, I'll do likewise," Sam said, mirroring Frodo's expression. "Besides, someone has to be steady enough to drag the two of you back to our rooms when we're through."  
  
Merry smirked at Sam in response and gladly accepted the pint Pippin offered him. The four hobbits made their way through their supper and ale in good spirits, and eventually even Merry and Pippin declared that they had enjoyed their fill. Rather unsteadily, the group retired to their rooms.  
  
~*~  
  
"Are you comfortable, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked as Frodo leaned back against the pillow with a contented sigh.   
  
"Yes, Sam. Quite comfortable," he answered. "I fear I should have declined that last ale, however."  
  
"You're not feelin' ill, are you?" Sam's voice held both fondness and concern.  
  
"Oh, no, Sam," Frodo assured him and yawned. "Just tired, that's all. Merry and Pippin may have their headaches to contend with in the morning, though."  
  
"T'would serve 'em right, it would," Sam said with a scowl.   
  
Frodo laughed as he rolled over and closed his eyes. "Good night Sam," he said as he burrowed into the blankets. "Sleep well."  
  
"You too, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as he tucked himself in.  
  
~*~  
  
The common room was strangely empty and bathed in cool shadows as Frodo walked through the door. His footfalls made no sound as he moved further into the gloom. He jumped nervously as a sound came from the far corner and his eyes caught a brief flash of motion. He exhaled in relief as the cat zipped past him and out the door.   
  
The hobbit frowned as he stood in the empty room. He could not recall what had brought him there. Had he been hungry, or thirsty perhaps? Was he simply restless and unable to sleep? His mind felt strangely clouded as he stared into the darkness around him. He turned slowly as if to depart, but a voice came softly from the far end of the room.  
  
"Leaving so soon? I had hoped you would stay for a short while."  
  
Frodo froze instantly. "It's not possible," he muttered. A thought came to him. "If I can hear your voice, I must be dead."  
  
A chuckle came from the darkness. "No, you're not dead, not yet," the voice said calmly.   
  
"Then how is it that you're here?" Frodo breathed, turning slowly toward the source of the voice.   
  
A single candle flared to life on the table in the corner and Rushford Bramblethorn raised his mug and peered over it at Frodo. "You tell me. It's your dream."  
  
Frodo averted his gaze from the apparition before him and muttered, "A dream... of course."   
  
"Yes, love. You've conjured me from the shadows of your mind, and here I am." Bramblethorn raised his mug and pointed to the table. A second mug had somehow appeared. "Please, make yourself comfortable."  
  
'Comfortable' seemed a strange choice of words to Frodo. At the moment he was anything but, having found himself in the presence of his former foe, dream or otherwise. Still, he found himself walking toward the table. He sat down and gingerly reached out to take the mug.   
  
"You look well," Bramblethorn said, coolly appraising.  
  
"I am, thank you," Frodo said automatically.   
  
"There is something different about you, though," Bramblethorn said thoughtfully. "Something I cannot quite grasp, and it isn't merely your splendid attire. You seem... changed, somehow."  
  
"Changed. Yes, I suppose I am," Frodo replied rather absently. The mug of ale was solid and cool in his hand, and he raised it for a sip. The taste was that of as fine an ale as he'd had with supper. So far, everything in this dream seemed disturbingly real.   
  
  
  
Bramblethorn continued to gaze at Frodo, attempting to articulate just what was different about him now. "You are thin, but you always have been," he remarked. "But there is a quality about you that is more, I don't know... ethereal, for lack of a better term. Almost as if you are between the two realms somehow."  
  
"I don't follow you," Frodo said, shaking his head.   
  
"Between the realm of the truly living and the realm of the truly dead. You seem to inhabit a little of both."  
  
Frodo found that he did understand. He rubbed absently at the place on his left shoulder where the Morgul blade had pierced him. The gesture did not go unnoticed.  
  
"Yes. Perhaps that is the source of what I perceive," Bramblethorn said with a nod.   
  
"You know about that?" Frodo asked, his gaze clouded with memory. What else did Bramblethorn know?  
  
"The dead see much, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn explained. At Frodo's startled expression he laughed. "Fear not, I cannot look into every moment of your waking life. It has only been the merest glimpses I've been able to catch, and only at times when you were near to me."  
  
"Near to you?" Frodo pondered the meaning of the words.  
  
"Ahh, and you have been near, I'm afraid. Several times I prepared to welcome you, but as always, you found hidden reserves of strength that enabled you to carry on."  
  
"What... what did you see? When?" Frodo took a long drink of ale.  
  
"I saw you when the blade pierced your shoulder. The vision was brief, but I saw. Pain you have known before that time indeed, but not like that. And I saw you as you clawed your way across a horrid landscape, a living thing in a place where no living thing should be. I perceived fear, fury and fire, and then nothing. I've not seen you since. I confess I am glad to see that your condition has greatly improved."  
  
"Are you?" Frodo frowned slightly. "Even though it means I remain in the world of the living and you in the realm of the dead?"   
  
"Even so," Bramblethorn said quietly. "For I do love you, dear Frodo."  
  
Frodo looked up, daring to meet the gaze of Bramblethorn's ghost. The image seemed to shift slightly, losing some of its substance.  
  
"I'm sure you realize, it costs me much to take this form. I cannot remain much longer." Bramblethorn's voice sounded just a touch hollow and farther away. Frodo froze as Bramblethorn reached for his hand. He gasped as he felt the grip. It was firm, far too much so for Frodo's comfort.  
  
"Yes, Frodo. I can touch you here, now in this dream. I'm as real as your mind has allowed me to be, if only for a short time."  
  
"Release me. Let go." Frodo demanded, his breath quickening.   
  
Bramblethorn laughed again. "Some things do not change, do they, love?" Bramblethorn did not let go, but instead reached across the table with his other hand to lightly caress Frodo's cheek. "I must do as you wish, for my time here is ended. Live on, dear Frodo. Feel the sun on your lovely face, and the wind in your hair. Know the love of those around you and love them in return. We will meet again someday, but not for a while yet. Farewell, Frodo..."  
  
Before Frodo could answer, the vision faded before his eyes.   
  
~*~  
  
"Frodo! Mr. Frodo?" A voice whispered, and someone gently shook him. Frodo's eyes opened slowly to the welcome sight of Sam hovering over him with a concerned expression. "I'm sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo, but you were dreamin' again, an' I was afraid it was one of... those dreams."  
  
Frodo sighed with relief. "A dream it was, and I'm glad it was only that. Still, it wasn't as terrible as you feared."  
  
"What was it, if you don't mind my askin'?" Sam looked down at his toes, embarrassed that he had spoken such a request aloud. "You don't have to tell me."  
  
"It's all right, Sam," Frodo reassured him as he sat up and rubbed his temples. "It was Bramblethorn again."  
  
Sam's gaze quickly caught Frodo's and the concerned expression intensified. "Then I was right to wake you, I reckon."  
  
"I'm glad you did, but it wasn't like the other dreams," Frodo said, trying to explain. "We were sitting in the common room, talking."   
  
"Talkin'?" Sam said incredulously. "What in all the world would you have to say to that villain?" Sam hoped it was something harsh and horrible, although he could scarcely imagine any such thing from Frodo.  
  
"He said he'd watched me sometimes," Frodo replied reluctantly. He could tell Sam was greatly disturbed by his words. "He said the dead can see the living sometimes, when..." he trailed off, not wanting to trouble Sam further.  
  
"When there ain't naught but the grace of the Valar to save them?" Sam asked quietly as Frodo met his gaze. "Did you think I didn't know?" He asked as he took Frodo's hand in his own. "Did you think I didn't know I almost lost you, and more than once?"  
  
"No, Sam. You always knew, and it hurt you so," Frodo replied gently. "I'm sorry, Sam. For everything."  
  
"Don't be sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, shaking his head. "You did naught but what you had to do, and as unfair as it was that it had to be you to do any of it, I understand why you did."   
  
"There was no other choice, Sam. The Ring came to me, and it was my responsibility to destroy it. And I failed..." Frodo looked away, wondering if Bramblethorn would have mentioned that had their conversation been longer.  
  
"How can you say that?" Sam replied, trying to soothe Frodo. "You did destroy it. It's gone, melted in the fire."  
  
"I claimed it, Sam," Frodo said sadly. "I claimed it as surely as Bramblethorn once attempted to claim me." Frodo's gaze fell upon his own hand, and the gap where there once was a slender finger. "I was no better than he."  
  
Sam frowned. "Now that ain't true, Mr. Frodo, an' you know it! Bramblethorn was just plain evil, that's all. There ain't an evil thing in you, nohow!"   
  
"There is good and ill in everyone, Sam," Frodo responded. "We must choose which path we follow. In that moment, when I claimed the Ring, I chose."  
  
"No, you didn't," Sam said, daring to contradict Frodo openly. "It chose. The Ring made you do it. You weren't yourself, an' you're not to blame."   
  
Tears stood in Frodo's eyes as he reluctantly met Sam's kind gaze. "Oh, Sam! I so want to believe you, I do!"   
  
"Believe me, then." Sam embraced Frodo and continued, "Believe that you're as good and kind as you've always been, and as deservin' of bein' loved."  
  
Frodo recalled Bramblethorn's words. 'Know the love of those around you and love them in return.' It was the only thing Bramblethorn had ever said to him that he cared to remember, a small bit of wisdom acquired too late. Or was it?  
  
"Bless you, Sam," Frodo said simply, choosing to let his melancholy fade in the face of warmth and unconditional acceptance.   
  
~*~  
  
Frodo winked at Sam as he stood in the hallway outside Merry and Pippin's door. He rapped on it smartly, calling out in his most cheerful tone, "Good morning, sleepyheads! Rise and greet the day! We've a long road ahead of us yet!"  
  
Twin groans issued from within. A moment later, the door opened a couple of inches and the face of Meriadoc Brandybuck appeared, pale and pained of expression. "A moment, if you please, cousin, and a quieter one at that."  
  
"A bit the worse for wear, are you now?" Frodo asked, on eyebrow quirking upward.   
  
Merry attempted to respond with some semblance of composure. "Not so much so that there need be any further discussion of the matter," he said dismissively. "You seem quite chipper, if I may say so."  
  
Frodo merely smiled. While his dream had been disturbing at the time, he now found that in the light of day he had gained something unexpected from the strange spectral encounter. He supposed that he had finally found some measure of closure that had been missing before. He had often wondered if his former foe had found any peace in death, for Bramblethorn had surely not found peace in life. Now it seemed to Frodo that Bramblethorn, though no longer living, had perhaps attained an understanding that had escaped him previously. He had wished Frodo well, even if only in a dream.   
  
"Frodo?" Merry prompted, and Frodo realized that his expression must have been betraying some part of his thoughts.   
  
"I'm quite all right, Merry," Frodo said, meeting his cousin's gaze and favoring him with a genuine smile.   
  
"Well, yes, I suppose you are," Merry agreed, looking from Frodo's placid expression to features of Sam, who stood at his side. "Quite all right, indeed."   
  
"Thanks to all of you," Frodo replied. "I should not have come through all of this nearly so well without you by my side."   
  
"For pity's sake, let a fellow rest, won't you?" Pippin chimed in irritably from somewhere beyond the half - open door.   
  
Merry turned and smirked at Pippin. "No rest for the weary travelers, Pip," he said, more energy coming into his voice. "Frodo and Sam have emerged into the daylight, and so must we."  
  
"Ready yourselves and meet us in the common room," Frodo ordered. "We'll be on our way after breakfast."  
  
As Sam and Frodo made their way to the common room, Sam regarded Frodo thoughtfully. "Mr. Frodo, are you all right? I mean, havin' that strange dream last night and all..."  
  
"Yes, Sam. That dream was odd, but not entirely bad. I think - " Frodo broke off, frowning slightly and trying to articulate what he had experienced. "I think I shan't dream of him again, Sam."  
  
"I should hope not," Sam said rather forcefully. "The last thing you need after all you've been through is to have that creature troublin' your rest."  
  
"It's hard to explain, Sam, but I really do believe that Bramblethorn is at peace somehow. He's finally let me go."  
  
"Has he?" Sam asked, a plaintive note in his voice.   
  
"He bade me live on in peace, and to know that I'm surrounded by those who love me."  
  
"He said that?" Sam replied in some confusion. That would have been the last thing he would have expected from Bramblethorn, or his ghost, as it were.  
  
"Yes, Sam. He did. I think he finally understands."   
  
"Dreams are a funny thing, aren't they, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said as he settled himself at the table across from Frodo.   
  
"They are indeed, Sam."  
  
Merry and Pippin soon joined them and no more was said of the incident. Breakfast was served and eaten, the lodgings paid for, and the ponies laden with the travelers' belongings once again. The four hobbits set off on the final part of their journey, home ahead and all else behind.  
  
~*~ End ~*~ 


End file.
